A/N:

I own nothing but the situations and the original characters.

One.

It was big news if a Japanese business deal impacted Europe. The East Asia economy was stable, firm, unshakeable. European markets were weak, toppling at the slightest tremor. A beautiful woman scratched just behind the tucked ears of a misty gray. "Just look Asimov," she cooed, slanted eyes flitting over the English paper. "Look at what our boy is doing."

Tokyo Tycoon Expands: Sion Industry Floods Market with Themed Clubs

The pit bull wagged his tail. "Good boy," the woman dropped the newspaper on the granite countertop. "Do you need to go outside?" Ruffling her waist length black hair, her his swayed as she walked to the glass wall. A pure white Pomeranian wove between her bare legs, yipping in glee as she slid the door open. Asimov trotted faithfully behind the much smaller dog onto the penthouse terrace. For such a small dog, Ruger had absolutely no fear of heights. She loved to watch the London skyline, and they often left the patio door open so she could go as she pleased.

"What are we going to do with him?" she mused to her babies. "He is getting bolder."

"You're speaking in Japanese," dark arms encircled her bare waist, and he buried his nose in her thick hair. "And wearing skimpy lingerie for the world to see. You know what that does to me."

"You are incorrigible," she stroked his week old scruff.

"Always, when it comes to you," he kissed her throat. "Did you see the paper this morning?"

"Of course. Tokyo is my city, and he is the pinnacle of it."

"And Dubai is mine. But it is Japan's kingpin that is trying to takeover Europe, not my uncle," the man quipped back.

"You make it sound so nefarious!" she laughed. "Don't tell me you are afraid of him!"

His grip around her waist tightened, and his voice deepened somewhat in her ear. "Afraid of Asami Ryuichi? Who in their right mind isn't?"

The Japanese socialite glanced back on the newspaper. Just below the title was a photo of the handsome man and black market criminal stepping out of his limo. The caption credited the photo to a Takaba Akihito. "I can think of one or two," she rolled her eyes. Asami Ryuichi always liked to fuck them young.

"Don't talk about him right now." Lips pressed against her neck's pearly column. "We will be in Japan soon enough. For now," hands crested over the hard planes of her stomach, leaving trails of gooseflesh. "Just think of me."

Thick fingers slipped beneath her lacy boyshorts and curled inward. Pointy hips bucked as her bak arched violently against him. They would deal with Asami when the time came. Until then, they tripped over stacks of financial records, shoved profit margins out of the way, and kicked a sniper riffle out of the way as they tangoed towards the bed.

"Shit," he jerked away from her mouth when he stubbed his toe on her suitcase. Damn woman was hot but she was messy. The lid bounced opened, revealing a ratted teddy bear. Mood killer but he knew that the man would recognize it instantly. Rumor had it that he had taken up some sex kitten of a lover. One could almost believe that the arctic asshole had feelings. They would find out soon enough.

***MySunshine•••

It was another day in Tokyo, business as usual.

"Asami!" Akihito kicked his legs wildly. He had been cooking an early lunch, trying to make sure the crime lord ate at least on decent meal before wasting hours embezzling money and shooting in kneecaps. Fuck knew that despite his amazing body, Asami had the worst eating habits known o man. Even Americans ate better than he did. Or so Akihito said, if only to win arguments.

"You know what that apron does to me," Asami tossed his lover on the oversized bed.

The photographer flushed. It was laundry day, which meant that he had literally no real clothing. Since it was just him and Asami in the condo, he was cooking in a tank top and his running shorts, which were admittedly short. "You just interpret everything as a come on."

"Why come on you, when I can come in you," Asami loosed his tie before leaning over his lover to lick his cheek. "Feel free to come all over me, kitten."

"Stop!" Akihito feebly held his hands in front of him. Asami's hands clamped down on his wrists, and he squirmed. "You sound so gross."

A thick knee wedged between his legs and rubbed. The photographer's skin slowly turned pink, his blood boiling like the sun was just beneath his skin. The translucence of that delicate skin offset the steel of Akihito's soul. The hard and soft of Akihito, with a will so malleable it could be played like a harp, was an intoxicating aphrodisiac.

"Asami," he groaned in the back of his throat.

"Oh yes, so gross," mirth laced Asami's voice as Akihito started to hump his leg. "You seem absolutely repulsed by the idea of coming over and over and over again." Each over was punctuated by the soothing jostling of Asami's knee.

The photographer ripped his wrists away from Asami. Grabbing his lapels, he pulled Asami against him. "Kiss me you bastard," and then he ripped the expensive shirt open.

Buttons rained in the room, but Akihito barely heard them. Asami had yanked his short shorts off and had fisted his dry cock roughly. Chapped licks unlocked at the burning sensation. Akihito gasped softly and Asami immediately flicked his thumb over the head of his cock. He rubbed the slit, agonizingly slow. The precum slicked the friction, leaving only the burning pleasure that undulated through his body in waves.

"You have on too many clothes," Akihito panted as he ran his hands over the chiseled chest. The back of his fingers ghosted over rock hard abs, itching to dive below the hem of his pants.

"I want," Asami languidly kissed his chest. "To taste," he licked the photographer's chest, starting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of saliva that ended just above his bellybutton. "You first."

The phone was ringing. Asami did not seem to care, and neither did Akihito. The crime lord left wet kisses trailing down his chest. A hot tongue swirled around the head and then disappeared. Akihito whined, his hands searching for Asami's head so he could pin it down. The need to thrust into that hot, wet cavern was all consuming, roiling and undulating.

The chiming beep seemed to get louder as it rang. The asshole on the other end was persistent. Asami growled lowly when Aki thrust into his mouth. He swallowed the entire erection greedily. He hummed in pleasure, and the vibrations sent jolts of pleasure up the photographers spine.

The phone continued to ring.

"Asami," Aki rolled his head side to side, eyes squeezed shut.

The phone kept ring.

Asami swore violently. Grabbing his phone, he snarled viciously. "What?"

"Asami-sama," Akihito heard Kirishima's soft voice echo from the speaker. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but a matter has arisen that requires your immediate attention."

"Deal with whatever fool crossed me! Don't call me again!" Asami moved to throw the phone across the room when Kirishima's voice startled him.

"Ryuichi," both Asami and Akihito stilled when the secretary used his given name. The photographer slowly sat up, eyebrows crossing as he listened raptly. Asami sat on his knees. The distance muffled Kirishima's voice, but he could still make some of it out. "Our man from Interpol just called. He said that Mahdi Al Madani's passport was flagged crossing the Bosnian-Serbian border."

Asami was off the bed before Akihito could move. He nearly ran to his closet and jerked it open. "Where is he going?"

"We don't know. Suoh is read to deploy a team to the UAE to intercept him, but it is doubtful that he will surface again. His uncle will certainly give him asylum if he reaches the United Arab Emirates."

"He's been in London for four years, Kei." Asami threw the phone onto the nearby settee as he quickly buttoned his shirt. "Why is he moving now?"

"We're not sure," Kirishima was careful to keep his voice neutral and his sentences short. He knew that Akihito was listening closely, and would try to piece together just what was happening. He had never heard of anybody named Madani, but he knew that the United Arab Emirates was the third richest country in the world. Whoever it was had to be a major player in the criminal underground. "He had an entourage with him, though. Ajdin is wiring the security footage to us now."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Kirishima," Asami glanced at his confused lover as he walked out of his bedroom. "I want him alive."

"Understood, Asami-sama." Kirishima paused. He knew his boss well enough to anticipate his questions, and he sighed as he answered it before it could be voiced. "No one else in the party was flagged, but Ajdin is checking to see if the passports were forged."

"That's what I thought. It seems careless that they are moving so openly now."

"Suoh is waiting for you in the parking garage," the faithful secretary said. "I will have a full report ready when you arrive."

"Ten minutes," he repeated, and then dropped his cell in his suit pocket. "Kitten, I have to go. Something has come up at work."

"What do you mean something?" his little lover snarled. The kitten was struggling to pull his pants up, hopping up and down as he tried to get the skintight denim up his legs. "Who is Al Madani?"

"A pest," cold gold eyes locked on his lover's face. "Stay inside today. It might not be safe right now."

"Come on, Asami. Like this Madani guy can hurt you," Akihito rolled his eyes. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall. "And like hell I'm staying inside. You know I'm supposed to meet Mitari to go over the article on Hitachori." He was a politician who had been sleeping with underage girls. If he did not argue with Mitari, he knew his slimy coworker would somehow con him out of his rightful cut.

"I don't have time to argue, Akihito," Asami pinched the bridge of his nose. He was dangerously close to loosing his perfect control. The photographer noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands grabbed at the air as if looking for a neck to strangle and the tempestuous inferno blazing in his eyes. This Mahdi Al Madani must have done something vile, something unimaginable to make Asami hate him so much. And Akihito had a pretty good imagination. "Stop being so damn stubborn for once and listen to me. Stay inside. It's for your own good."

He slammed the door on his way out, making his photographer jump. Akihito growled when he heard the lock slide into place, sealing him in his penthouse prison. "Please, you bastard," he muttered under his breath.

Shoving his body off the wall, Akihito ran back to the bedroom. He pulled a long sleeved shirt and a pullover on before grabbing his phone. Screw Mitari and Hitachori, let the goateed freeloader get the credit for the mundane political scandal. Akihito had just stumbled onto yakuza gold, the criminal rivalry of the century. He would remember reading about some Arab with a name like that. It was time to expose him for what he was––or for whatever he did.

"It isn't for Asami," he swore to himself. He was doing it for his job, and not to help Asami get revenge. "Not for Asami."

The elevator ride was the longest in his life. The stairs would have been quicker. At least no snobby women glared at him. When he stumbled onto the bustling sidewalk, Akihito glanced around. He would lose whatever tail Asami placed on him, and get to the archives. He was going to take Almundi or Al Maddi or whoever he was down.

A hand shot out of the crowd to grab his arm. It was strong and bruising. Akihito whipped around to tell at whatever goon Asami hired. No way in hell was he going to go back to the penthouse like a good boy. Hazel eyes locked with coal black ones, and the malicious snarl on the tall man's face froze him in place. This guy didn't work for Asami.

"Don't make a scene, kid," he hissed.

He took a step and was dragging Akihito behind him like a ragdoll. The cliche white van was parked on the side street, door open like a monster's mouth. Oh shit, Akihito dug his heels into the ground. He was getting taken. It was like Feilong all over again.

Just another day in Tokyo.

A/N:

This is going to be a fairly short story, but I am in the mood for some angst and melodrama. None of that is in Hyacinthus Bloomed so far, so this is satisfying that urge.